God's Will, Not Ours (Sermon)

 “God’s Will, Not Ours”

Matthew 26:36-43

Allen Huff

Jonesborough Presbyterian Church

Palm Sunday

3/24/24

         

³⁶Then Jesus went with them to a place called Gethsemane, and he said to his disciples, “Sit here while I go over there and pray.”

³⁷He took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee and began to be grieved and agitated. ³⁸Then he said to them, “My soul is deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and stay awake with me.”

³⁹And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me, yet not what I want but what you want.”

⁴⁰Then he came to the disciples and found them sleeping, and he said to Peter, “So, could you not stay awake with me one hour? ⁴¹Stay awake and pray that you may not come into the time of trial; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

⁴²Again he went away for the second time and prayed, “My Father, if this cannot pass unless I drink it, your will be done.”

⁴³Again he came and found them sleeping, for their eyes were heavy. (NRSV)

 

It’s the night of Jesus’ betrayal and arrest. Judas knows that.

It’s the night before Jesus’ trial, and after doing business with Judas, the religious leaders know that.

It’s also the night before Jesus’ crucifixion and death, and while Jesus seems aware of that, he also feels like it’s worth asking for a stay of execution.

Maybe there’s another way for humankind to recognize that their bloodlust—be it for power, land, or revenge—is not only antithetical to God’s will and Jesus’ teaching, it’s also, ultimately, futile. Violence breeds more violence, and more violence breeds more and more violence. And on and on it goes.

That cycle has always been in play in human history. And if there is, in fact, any hope of breaking the us-against-them cycle, that hope lies in practicing, even against all odds, the kind of love Jesus has embodied—a love in which the ego, who does so love to be right and dominant, is named, and tamed, and its energy channeled toward healing and community-building action. For relatively recent examples of that kind of disarming love, think Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., Desmond Tutu.

         Fully convinced that such love is the way forward, and fully committed to it, Jesus enters the quiet and deserted Garden of Gethsemane. Leaving his most trusted disciples to keep watch, he slips off to pray.

God, he says, if there’s another way to reveal the impotence of the people’s violence, can we please try it? That’s what I want, of course, but I’ll do whatever you ask.

         When Jesus breaks from his grief-wrought prayers, he finds Peter, James, and John sleeping as soundly as the Roman guards who will crumble into unconsciousness at the sight of the angel who will, soon enough, roll away the stone from Jesus’ tomb.

Scolding his disciples into wakefulness, Jesus charges them, again, to keep watch while he prays. And yet, once again, Jesus finds that his hand-picked followers have fallen asleep.

         Back in Matthew 8, it’s Jesus who falls asleep in the midst of a high-stakes moment. He and the disciples are in a boat crossing the Sea of Galilee when a storm threatens the boat and everyone in it. And Jesus lies asleep in the back. Terrified and angry, the disciples provoke Jesus from his sleep, screaming, Don’t you care that we’re dying!

You hear the irony here, don’t you?

In both cases, Jesus sees into and beyond the things that apparently are to things that can be, things the disciples do not and, at the moment, cannot see. On the lake, Jesus sees through the storm to a breaking horizon, one of calm and well-being. In the garden, he sees through the apparent stillness of night to a storm gathering on the horizon, a storm that will make the next day unimaginable and unforgettable, a day that will begin to make sense only in light of Sunday.

Whatever lies immediately before him, Jesus, seeing through the eyes of redeeming love and transforming grace, perceives hope and new beginnings. He sees God transforming even annihilating violence into revelations of grace.

To be sure, individuals, groups, nations, animals, and ecosystems often experience annihilation. And those painful losses are hard to endure and even harder to explain. The Creation God loves does suffer. Nonetheless, says God,suffering will not have the last word.

While trying to impose its own will, humankind deliberately unleashes the demons of violence and destruction. And yet, to those with eyes to see and ears to hear, God is always revealing brutality as the fruit of a will consumed by ego. When confusing that will with God’s will, we always end up giving up on faith, hope, and love. 

The transformation God has put into play for the Creation is not sustained by violence. No battlefield victory, no humiliation of political or religious rivals, no accumulation of power or wealth has even a chance of revealing the depth and breadth of the realm of God. That revelation always happens through things like poverty of spirit, hunger and thirst for righteousness, meekness, mercy, and peacemaking grace. And those are fruits of Resurrection.

The Hosannas of Palm Sunday mean Save us now. And as a prayer of willful dependence on the swords, spears, and nails of Friday, it stands in stark contrast to Jesus’ Gethsemane prayer of thy will be done. Jesus says it over and over, but we keep choosing to learn it the hard way:

God does not save through weapons and domination.

God saves by calling and empowering us to participate in God’s love for all things.

God saves and redeems by willing us to live in this world, today, as signs of God’s realm of welcome, service, care, and reconciliation.